A Time to Think
by Queerasil
Summary: Sherlock and John get drunk, lose their memory, and investigate a mystery where the only clue is a purple stick note with the word 'Crime' on it. Loosely based on "The Adventure of the Devil's Foot." (In which Sherlock and John solve a crime drunk. Demonic possessions, con artists, hangovers, nightmares, drugs, and first kisses abound.)


*** Note: Loosely based on the ACD story "The Adventure of the Devil's Foot" with lose references to "The Adventure of the Copper Beeches". There's a CB sequel planned, so know that! Writing drunk character is so incredibly fun. This is story is completed, and one chapter will be uploaded a day. There are twenty chapters total. Please enjoy!**

**...**

"To Mycroft and Lestrade!"

"May they bother each other for eternity!"

Sherlock and John clinked their glasses together, downing their beer.

Sherlock hiccupped. "Hopefully, they won't bother us anymore."

"Hopefully. Or, they might combine to form a tag-team of annoyance."

Sherlock look horrified at the very thought. "Don't say that, John." Sherlock gestured at the CCTV camera in the corner of the restaurant and whispered, "_They'll get ideas_."

John laughed. Sherlock was much drunker than he was, which made the evening much more entertaining.

Currently, Sherlock was staring at his glass, obviously very preoccupied with a small smudge just on the rim. "Fascinating," he slurred, before licking it. It tasted like soap. "I deduce _they have no idea how to wash dishes here_." He yelled the last part louder, as if trying to attract the attention of the kitchen staff, who weren't paying the slightest bit of attention. Sherlock hiccupped. "Sorry, John, what were you saying again."

John was staring off into space before Sherlock's words snapped him back into existence. He shook his head. "Oh, oh, right! I –" John frowned. "I don't remember what I was going to say."

"Don't worry," Sherlock said. "I will entertain us with a story. Have I ever told you about the time I chased a chicken 'round Scotland Yard on Christmas Eve because it had _a priceless blue gemstone in its belly_." Sherlock whispered the last part as if it was a very, very important secret.

John nodded, then stopped, then shook his head. "No, tell me."

"It's the funniest story." Sherlock downed the last bit of his beer. "If only I could remember it."

John started laughing. "You can't remember? You, the great Sherlock Holmes, forgot something?"

"It happens."

"No, it doesn't," John argued.

"No. It doesn't," Sherlock conceded. "I am capable of humanity, though, John. On a very base level."

Laughing, John smiled. "Scraping the bottom of the barrel, are you?"

Sherlock nodded and raised his glass into the air, toasting himself. "I am both the pinnacle and the pitfall of humanity."

"To Sherlock Holmes –"

"And John Watson," Sherlock finished.

They clinked their glasses together, and drank, not realizing the glasses were empty.

Sherlock started to giggle. If John was sober, he would've thought it was the most frightening noise he'd ever heard. John took another drink of his beer, and smiled; Sherlock was still giggling. "What's so funny?"

"Your face."

"What about my face?"

Sherlock swayed a little, almost falling off his chair. "It's very nice."

"Thank you. Apparently, I look like my mother."

"Well, then you have a very nice mother."

John did have a very nice mother. John, however, looked absolutely nothing like her. "Oh! I remember what I was going to say," John announced. "Isn't being drunk great?"

Sherlock nodded as stared at the smudge on his glass. He'd completely forgotten it was there. "Look at this, John."

John smiled. "Oh, you are hammered. I'mma go hail a cab." John stood up abruptly, swaying slightly and reaching out to the table for support. "I'm fine. Just everything's a little topsy turvy…"

As John stumbled out of the pub to hail a cab, Sherlock pulled out his wallet and fumbled to find some bills. Slapping a random amount of money down on the table, he started off towards the street himself, forgetting his coat and scarf at the table. He didn't care. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only drunk consulting detective, was having an amazing night.

Once Sherlock was outside, John came running out of nowhere. "Sherlock! Sherlock! I met a pretty lady!"

Sherlock gave him a thumbs up. "How pretty?"

"Prettier than my mum." John nodded. "I'm going with her to do _things_. Are you going to be okay with getting back to the cottage yourself?" John stumbled over his jumbled words as he spoke, which made Sherlock smile.

"I'll be fine." Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "You go with the pretty lady."

John nodded, running back towards the pretty lady waiting for him at the next pub over.

Sherlock smiled, starting off towards their little cottage.

**...**


End file.
